The listener and the teller of stories.

Defying Gravity Dramaturgy

When I told my mother I started working as a dramaturg, she said, “Okay,” and did what you would expect any dramaturg’s mother to do: she researched it. She googled and read about it and called me proudly one day to say she finally thinks she understands what I do. Which is great for my mother, but, as I’ve learned, impossible for her to say. Depending on what you research and who you read, a dramaturg can play more than one role. For example, here’s what you get when you google “dramaturg”:

Dramaturg, n. (dra-ma-turg)

Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas (LMDA), of which I’m proudly a student member, will claim that dramaturgs “contextualize the world of a play; establish connections among the text, actors, and audience; offer opportunities for playwrights; generate projects and programs; and create conversations about plays in their communities” (“What is Dramaturgy?”).

In an overview for their nationally recognized MFA program in Dramaturgy and Dramatic Criticism, Yale School of Drama says a dramaturg will participate in “text preparation and oversight; translation and adaptation; preproduction and rehearsal work on issues of design, direction, and performance; contextual research; program and study guide notes and preparation; the conducting of audience discussions; participation in educational outreach programs; and related work in conjunction with the marketing and media departments” (“Dramaturgy and Dramatic Criticsm”). You know, just the bare minimum.

Educational Theatre Association has an entire Dramaturgy 101 section, written by Alley Theatre in Houston’s resident dramaturg, Amy Steele. Scanning it for “dramaturg” yields the following results: “historical, critical, literary, and philosophical consciousness,” “watchdog,” “audience’s surrogate,” “designated readers,” “keeper of the text,” “word person,” and “diplomat or mediator.”

For what it’s worth, I’m also a fan of “advocate,” which I’ve used to describe a dramaturg before; I’ve coined (or like to think I’ve coined) the phrase, “dramaturgy is advocacy.” You’ll also find the answer to “what does a dramaturg do?” is simply, “she questions.” At the end of the day, it is a profession of and surrounded by many questions.

You can see where this gets confusing. Sorry, mom.

Imagine how complicated it all gets, then, when I tell you that a dramaturg, much like Pokemon, come in different forms. And each form has a different vocabulary and requires different responsibilities. I wanted there to be just one - let me just be one kind of dramaturg PLEASE - but nothing in life is easy. That’s what makes the work I do both exciting and incredibly frustrating.

Imagine these forms as sub categories you’d list out if you’re playing a game of “Categories.” Or separate chapters in a book entitled, “What the F*** is A Dramaturg?” (because that’s a trick question that requires more than one textbook answer; it requires an entire textbook, like Dramaturgy in American Theatre: A Sourcebook or The Art of Active Dramaturgy). To give you some context to the field, here’s my quick and dirty guide to the world of dramaturgy:

              institutional dramaturgy: works closely with a theatre company as a resident dramaturg

            new play dramaturgy: works through the new play development process

            academic dramaturgy: works on a production included in a university’s academic season

            playwright dramaturgy: works on developing the playwright rather than the play

            classical dramaturgy (AKA dead guy dramaturgy): works on traditional, classical texts, such as those of  Shakespeare or ancient Greek theatre

            production dramaturgy: works on a specific play, playwright dead or alive that has a history of past productions, and typically is responsible for historical research and the daunting program essay

  At this point in my dramaturgical career (because, of course, “dramaturgy” also exists as an adjective), I’ve worked as two different types of dramaturg: the production dramaturg and new play dramaturg. Ever since my first experience with dramaturgy, I’ve been charged to define what I do for those who don’t. At the national festival I attended in April 2013, I was told that if I can’t explain my job in one sentence to someone who asks, then I die. I am a dead dramaturg in the water, floating helplessly in a sea of misunderstanding and drowning in pools of my own unread research.

I do not want to be a dead dramaturg. In fact, I am very much alive. A real life dramaturg. This project serves as proof that I exist and that I (hopefully) understand what I’m doing. I think I understand what others think about what I do, but do I think I understand what I do? A question worth exploring and one, I hope, the following project will answer. So, in an attempt to help you understand what I do and how I think I do it, I want to offer my definition of the dramaturg. For the purposes of this project, “dramaturg” is a noun meaning:

an essential team player who is responsible for understanding and defending the language of the play and of the production

Language, here, means two things: 1. the actual way in which a play is written, including structure and vernacular; and 2. the way in which the production team communicates. I fell in love with the idea of a dramaturg functioning as a sort of linguist; learning the play’s language is at the heart of what we do.

What follows is a linguistic exploration of and reflection on my work as both production and new play dramaturg for MU Theatre’s 2012 adaptation of Medea (of Euripides, not of Tyler Perry). Let’s learn the language together.

A term I had to make Word recognize for the sake of this project, so don’t feel bad if you don’t recognize it, either.

#ProTip: “Dramaturg” is pronounced with a hard G. “Dramaturgy” is pronounced with a soft G. Phonetics is very important to us, but mainly because “dramaturge” can also mean “playwright” in other languages. Though we work with playwrights, we do not (always) consider ourselves playwrights. 

A party game with a catching refrain and corresponding hand motions. To win, you have to list off an item in the proposed category. So, say the category is “fruit.” When the circle makes it to you, you can say “banana” or “pomegranate” or “tomato.” You’re out if you can’t name anything. And eventually you’ll run out of fruit.

Which was with a Columbia, Missouri non-profit theatre company, Independent Actors Theatre, in the fall of 2011. I worked as dramaturg for Dan Dietz’s tempOdyssey, directed by Dr. Cat Gleason. She and I got a good thing going with that production.

Specifically, the National Kennedy Center American College Theatre Festival (KCACTF), housed at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.

My  journey as a dramaturg happened as a happy accident. Ask anyone in their respective professions how they got to where they are now, and their stories will in some way parallel mine. I love theatre. I love the spaces, the stories, the people, the questions. I love being in it and I love being a part of it. One of the instructors I’ve had the pleasure of working with at this university starts a theatre class with a simple statement:

Only do theatre if you cannot live without it. The statement is more often used in conversations about performance and acting-as-career (and I’ve tweaked a bit with how my memory serves me), but I’ve found it true with every aspect of the theatre profession. Only do theatre, only be in the theatre, if you can’t see yourself doing anything else.

I can’t see myself doing anything else.

Dramaturgy came at a time where I wasn’t sure how to keep theatre in my life. I wasn’t having any luck with university auditions, and I’ll be the first to admit my mounting discouragement. But I didn’t want to give up – you’ll learn that about me, I don’t like giving up. So I thought, “what else can I do? How else do I do it?”

Theatre is surprising, isn’t it? Surprising in its opportunities, its communities, its connections.

I walked into an office wanting to be a critic and left starting as a dramaturg. And I have not looked back.

This spring, just a year and a half after my dramaturgical journey began, I get to go to the Kennedy Center and learn from dramaturgs across the country. Dramaturgs whose packets, portfolios, and production work intimidate me. I am scared, I am worried, but I am excited.

The beautiful (and what most dramaturgs will consider equally frustrating) part of dramaturgy is its flexibility. The idea that every production dictates the dramaturg’s role and guess what: it’s never the same. The work we do cannot be replicated or duplicated or applied to another production. We are born and we die as dramaturgs every time we sign on and complete a project.

Theatre is surprising, isn’t it?